Shot Through the Heart
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: Set just after HH&WH. The mysterious shooter from no reason returns, but this time shoots Cuddy.


House didn't care.

He didn't care that his leg felt like someone was sawing it off with a dull butter knife.

He didn't care that his head was pounding like someone was hitting it repeatedly with a sledgehammer.

He didn't care that his blue shirt was getting spattered red.

The only thing he cared about was stopping the bleeding.

And he was failing.

He pressed harder, his leg screaming at him for his putting it in such an awkward position.

The bleeding was starting to subside, just a little, under his firm pressure.

He risked a glance up, just to see if the lunatic was about to shoot him—again.

Kuttner was staring, wide-eyed, at him and her on the floor.

Foreman and Thirteen were restraining the man, Thirteen had the gun pointed at the man's head, hands shaking.

Taub was nowhere to be seen, he had probably gone for help.

House looked back down at Cuddy, nodding in response to her terrified look.

"You're gonna be ok."

She closed her eyes.

"Cuddy!"

She opened them.

"Stay with me, ok? Stay here, stay with me."

She nodded, tan skin paper white.

"You're gonna be ok. You're gonna..."

She closed her eyes.

"Cuddy!"

"Cuddy!?"

"CUDDY!"

Cuddy opens her eyes.

She is in a hospital bed.

Her chest hurts, a heck of a lot.

Something is holding her hand, tightly, rubbing over it.

She looks towards it.

Wilson, sitting in the chair, currently looking up at her status box.

He turns back to look at her.

"Hey. You're awake."

She nods, coughing a little.

Wilson bites his lip, gently running his thumb over her hand.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember... I remember House telling me it would be ok. I remember my chest hurting. But I don't remember what happened."

"You were shot. The same guy who shot House."

Cuddy looks away.

Then she looks back at Wilson, frowning.

"Where is he? House?"

It's Wilson's turn to look away now, and so he does.

"I... told him to get out. We didn't know if you would ever wake up, and he... I couldn't stand thinking about that."

Cuddy frowns further.

"He was here?"

Wilson nods, standing up and placing his hands on her shoulders, as she tries to sit up.

"Don't, you'll rip your stitches. Yeah, he was here. He's worried about you, I know that much. I think he might have been crying."

Cuddy looks at him.

"If he wants to be here, I want him here."

Wilson sighs.

"I can't stand that."

"Then leave."

Wilson stares at her.

She looks steadily at him.

"House might not have a great bedside manner, but he hasn't recently shattered his best friend out of pure guilt."

"I don't fell guilty...!"

"Because you're blaming House. Go away, Wilson. I'm tired, and I don't want to deal with you right now. Go find House. If he's as upset as you said, he's probably in a shower somewhere."

Wilson sighs, nods, and turns to go.

"Wilson."

He turns back to look at her.

"How bad?"

"It went straight through your lung, into your heart."

Cuddy bites her lower lip.

"How'd it go?"

"They were able to repair the damage, but you're going to be on bed rest for a long while."

Cuddy nods, spreading the edges of the hospital gown and fingering the fresh vertical row of stitches on her chest.

House swallows, looking up at the ceiling as he stands in the fourth floor showers, water running down his back and legs.

He takes a hopping step back so the cold water will wash the salty warmth off his face.

His eyes still ache, though, and he closes them.

What if... what if she dies.

She has always been there, for twenty years.

What if she wasn't there.

What if....

His hand slams into the side of the shower, the vibrations knocking the plastic coated metal rack off the edge of the door and onto his foot.

He ignores the pain, ignores his hand, ignores everything but the deep, throbbing ache in his chest.

What if she dies.

Wilson sighs, knocking on the door of the only running fourth floor shower.

It slams open, and a naked House tumbles out, bumping the temperature control but not caring, looking up at him with wide eyes as soon as he managed to sit up.

"Did something happen? Is Cuddy--"

"She woke up."

He sighs with relief, slumping back against the shower doorframe, not even aware that he is completely naked and soaking wet.

Wilson gets a towel from the rack behind him, handing it to House, who barely notices, his back still under the water that is getting hoter and hoter.

"How is she?"

"She's ok. She's awake, and alert, and seems pretty stable."

House sighs again, taking the towel and drying himself off with it.

Then he stops, looking at Wilson.

He has to look away after a moment, a burn in his chest that didn't have anything to do with the water that had started to scald his back before he stepped out of it.

He stands up, turning away as he wraps the towel around his waist.

"Go back to her room, Wilson. If I can't be there, you sure as hell better not leave her again."

Wilson sighs, taking a step forward and placing his hand on House's bare shoulder.

"She sent me away and told me to get you."

House turns back around.

Wilson looks away.

House pushes out past him.

Then he comes back in, grabbing his clothes off a bench.

Cuddy looks up tiredly, as familiar limping footsteps enter her room.

She smiles, seeing that it is, in fact, House.

He looks at her.

"Wilson said you sent him out."

She nods.

"I did."

"Why?" asks House, sitting down in the chair next to her bed.

She sighs, wincing as she does so.

In an instant, House is on his feet, leaning over her, checking the stitches.

She smiles.

"Because it's depressing to have an oncologist around when you're sick."

House looks at her.

Then he smirks.

"I imagine it is."

He sits back down, now that he is satisfied that Cuddy hasn't torn anything by sighing.

"Can you tell me what happened? I don't remember, and Wilson only gave me a recap."

House shrugs, "you were in the differential room, yelling at us about some treatment procedure that I don't even remember now, the guy came in... I don't know if he was aiming for me or you, but he got you, you fell... the next thing I really know, I was on the floor, pressing on a hole in your chest. I know Foreman and Thirteen got the guy's gun, held him back... Taub went for help. Then you passed out... someone came with a crash cart, we got you down to the ER, I was riding the gurney to keep the pressure on... 'course I didn't know it wasn't doing much good, since there was a hole in your heart....Cam checked the wound, called Chase to get an OR set up... Helen Wolfe did the surgery, Chase was assisting, as were half the surgeons from cardiology. Then you were in here, recovering. Your BP spiked once, and your heartrate dropped, and Wolfe almost had to open you back up, but Chase started you on pacing pads, that got the beat up. They took them off after an hour, and you were fine. I... don't know, after that. Sorry."

Cuddy shakes her head.

"Don't be sorry for Wilson ordering you out of the room."

House scratches the back of his head, "he told you about that?"

Cuddy nods.

"Yeah..." says House, looking away.

Cuddy looks at him, seeing just how tired he is.

"You should get some rest."

He snorts.

"Like that's gonna happen. Someone's gotta stay up to make sure you don't bleed all over the place."

Cuddy smiles.

House really is sincerely worried about her, though he doesn't have a clue how to express it.

"Alright. But you should at least put on an overshirt. You're shivering."

House looks down at himself.

"I... was in the shower."

Cuddy smiles, nodding.

"I know. You're always in the shower when you're worried. And you're on the roof—or at least the stairs—when you're not sure what the right thing is, and you're on the balcony when you're stuck on a case, or you don't understand what you're feeling."

House snorts, shaking his head and looking away.

Cuddy reaches out, gently touching the hand resting on the top of his plain gift-shop cane.

He looks at her, blinking.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. I know... I know you had to have been scared."

"What? I wasn't scared. Me? Hah...."

He looks away again.

Cuddy smiles, then winces, as moving her arm out towards House a little more stretches the stitches on her chest.

Hands are once again on her chest, not even approaching her breasts, just checking the stitches, the long, thin fingers extremely gentle on the sensitive caramel skin.

House sighed, hands lingering for a brief moment before he tears himself away, starting to turn away.

The emotions here are too raw, too fresh, too strong. He can't shove them down, they won't fit, all he can do is try to keep himself from getting in situations where they show.

As he turns, a hand grips his, keeping his hand on the warm form it was examining.

He looks back at Cuddy before he can stop himself.

"This isn't like you. Why aren't you hiding everything?"

House looks up at the ceiling for a long, long moment, taking a deep breath.

Then he looks back down at Cuddy.

"Because you got literally shot through the heart and if I wanted to keep everything hidden, I would have to literally hide. But even then, you would know what was going on. So... since there's nothing I can do to change whether you're going to see it... I might as well get to see you, satisfy myself that you're still alive, still ok."

Cuddy swallows, eyes fixed on his face despite the fact that he is not meeting them.

Her eyes wander down, and she sees something she hasn't registered before.

There is a large patch of dried blood on his shirt, over the center and a little to her... to her left.

For that to get there...

He must have been holding her close to his chest.

She looks back at his face.

How... how scared... how terrified had he been?

Cuddy bites her lip, thinking of something.

"House, can you check with Helen, see if it's ok for me to have solid foods? I'm really hungry...."

He nods, seeming relived to get off the subject of emotions.

Cuddy smiles, watching him go.

Then she reaches over to the table, picking up the phone.

"Hi, Foreman? Did... House has blood on his shirt."

'Cuddy... are you ok?'

"Yeah, other than the obvious having been shot issues. House has blood all over his shirt."

A soft sound, maybe a light laugh.

'That's because you had no pulse, you weren't responding to CPR, and he thought you were dead. Then Taub came with the crash cart, we got your heart to start beating again, and even though it was partially pumping blood out of the circulatory system, you weren't dead anymore. But before Taub showed up...' she hears a long sigh from the other end, 'House'll kill me if he knows I told you this, but he was... he was begging you to stay there. Watch some romance movie, you'll get the same effect.'

Cuddy blinks to herself for a moment.

Then she smiles.

"Thank you, foreman."

'Yeah... just get better, ok?'

"Right."

Cuddy hangs up, the smile still on her face.

So House had... no.

No.

This was a bad idea.

She knew this was a bad idea.

She had known this was a bad idea for over twenty years.

She had known this was a bad idea twenty years ago.

But... she had given it a try anyway.

Why?

Because....

Because he would do that.

He would care, if she were dying.

She knew he would.

She knew he had gotten shattered when Wilson had stopped talking to him, was still shattered.

She knew he was barely making it in to work these days.

She knew he came into her office and sat down and said nothing every time he saw Wilson.

She knew he was broken.

She knew he cared.

She knew this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

House comes back in with some food.

He looks exhausted.

He looks like he hasn't slept in days, and he probably hasn't.

He looks like he has spent every moment since she got shot worrying, and he probably has.

She knows this might not be a good idea... but....

It's not a bad one either.

She reaches out, touching the side of his face as he holds out the Styrofoam food tray.

He stares down at her, the tray shaking in his hands.

"What are you doing?" he croaks, swallowing hard.

She smiles, gently running her thumb over the edge of his rough jaw.

"Thank you."

He swallows again, "for what?"

"For asking me to stay."

He turns white, then red.

Then he sits down in the chair, forgetting about the tray in his hands, which drops to the floor as his hand carefully covers hers.

"Thank you for staying."

Cuddy smiles, closing her eyes.

"Well somebody's gotta keep you in line... who would have done it if I was gone?"

He smiles, laughing quietly, and gently squeezes the hand his is touching.

"Well... Foreman, but he doesn't have nearly as nice breasts."

Cuddy laughs, ignoring the pain in her chest.

The gentle hands touch her chest for the third time since she has woken up, and she opens her eyes, watching the sharp blue irises as they carefully search every minute crevice of her stitches for bleeding or tearing.

He is finally satisfied, and raises his head just a little, so he is meeting her eyes.

This leaves his head only an inch or so away from hers.

She smiles.

He smiles as well.

She closes her eyes.

A shrill alarm sounds, House yells for a crash cart, and Cuddy catches a brief flash of his panicked expression before she passes out.

When she wakes again, a rough thumb is rubbing over the side of her face, a hand is on her arm, and something wet is dripping onto her very sore chest.

She is still a little hazy, so she opens her eyes slowly enough that House doesn't realize she is awake at first, and she catches a sight of red eyes and wet cheeks, before he stands up, turning away and wiping his face.

She smiles tiredly.

"House."

He turns round, looking at her with his lips pressed together, eyes overbright and wet.

"There was something that you need to finish."

He laughs quietly, smirking a little as he limps the two steps to her side.

"You almost died... again. And that's all you want to talk about?"

She smiles.

"I got shot. Indulge me."

He smiles as well, nervously, completely unsure, and leans down, him gently touching her.

Wilson, standing in the hall, can't help smiling a little to himself.

House.... has been fascinated, captivated, by Cuddy as long as Wilson has known him—longer, even, apparently by a lot.

Yet it took something this extreme for him to realize what was going on.

What would it take for him to forgive House?

Did he really want to wait until it was either be there or let House die without saying goodbye?

He... he hoped not.

He really hoped not.

A week later...

A hand gripped Cuddy's elbow, as House's dubious support from the other side failed to support her shaky form.

House looked across her at the person—Wilson.

He swallowed, looking away.

"I'm sorry, House. I shouldn't have blamed you all this time."

House looked back at him, expression showing just how much it meant to him to hear those words.

Cuddy smiled, well supported between the two of them.

Maybe this getting shot thing wasn't so bad after all....


End file.
